A Dastardly Plot
by animegus farmus
Summary: A foul plot, a herioc Tin Man, and a princess in the state of inebriation, what more could you want? NOW A THREE-SHOT A Dastardly Good Deed: Lord Fonteroy discovers how many wrongs it takes to make a right...
1. A Dastardly Plot

_Disclaimer: Don't own it, I admit it, you can't sue. If you do I'll just plead insanity, my stories will back me up (so will my friends for that matter)._

_Author's Note: I feel a good deal of sympathy for Cain in this one, I often end up in a similar role. He only has to deal with the one person, however. I should be so lucky._

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It was all the result of Lord Fonteroy's dastardly plot. Yes, it was a _dastardly_ plot. DG had found herself enjoying using the word dastardly ever since she had been disappointed to learn that the O.Z.'s royal court was as subject to the same sort of machinations the Otherside royalty had once had to face. And the main target of the current plots was, of course, DG. As she was now crown princess and next in line for the throne much effort and scheming was being put into influencing the choice of her consort. Not that anyone was having any success thus far.

O.Z. childhood memories all but erased, raised on a Kansas farm, DG was protected from a great many of the courts attempts to sway her due to blissful ignorance. Elaborate courting rituals confused her, culturally laden innuendos passed her by unnoticed, and she was utterly blind to the subtler arts. To those who would seize power through matrimony, DG was an impenetrable fortress. She didn't have clue what they were up to, did not have the social responses they expected, and was generally too busy trying to catch up on her education to pay much attention to the royal court. Presented with the most skilled and adept of political suitors she'd smile politely, laugh freely, and then forget all about them. It was time for more desperate measures.

Which brings us back to Lord Fonteroy's dastardly plot. Lord Fonteroy was not the sharpest blade, or tack, or even wooden spoon. He planned to get her drunk. As mentioned two seconds ago, the young lord was not the smartest fellow, but he was also not particularly evil. His hope in this plan was that the drunken princess would, in the state of inebriation, fall willingly into bed with him. In the morning, of course, everyone would be appropriately shocked and he would act honourable and beg her to be his bride. He trusted social conventions to arrange matters from there.

There were, naturally, certain obstacles to this masterly plan, Wyatt Cain for instance. Many people in the O.Z. had tried to give the princess alcohol. Most of them had been well intentioned, properly trained waiters and bartenders. DG herself had tried her best to get her hands on a drink, the Tin Man, however, wasn't having any of it. He'd been at the receiving end of an unintentional spell when that particular argument took place. Probably the words 'you're not old enough' had set her off. Didn't matter, though, Cain had put his foot down and wasn't going to be moved. The ill intentioned had, for the most part, learned not to mess with he-who-lurks-about-the-princess and the waiters were terrified to cross him so that was the end of the matter. Unless, of course, you were a maker of dastardly plots.

However, while the Tin Man was a major force to be reckoned with, the main bar to the plan was actually DG herself. Naturally there was no way the young lord could have consulted him on the matter, but Ahamo was probably the only person who could have warned him of the futility of plying a Kansas farm girl with alcohol. Teenagers in farming communities, or indeed anywhere, are not really given to obeying the drinking age. As their entertainment options were severely limited, DG and her friends had spent most of their weekends attending tailgate and bush parties where alcohol had been procured by complacent older siblings or even parents. While DG had long since outgrown the stupidity of drowning brain cells for the mere sake of getting blind drunk, the odd frat party mixer she had attended had assured her she hadn't lost her rather astounding alcohol tolerance. She actually had a theory, since coming to the O.Z., that her magic gave her a hand in that regard. There was no scientific explanation, after all, for how a girl of her meagre body mass had once drank an entire hockey team under the table.

Alas, Lord Fonteroy did not have this knowledge thus he put Operation Seduce Princess into action shortly after the no alcohol edict. The Cain issue was being handled by decoys. Simple minded as he was in planning, the young lord was sharp enough to realize that the Tin Man could be delayed by nobles as he was not allowed to shoot them. At least, not when they weren't posing a real security threat – no one was foolish enough to think he'd stop to think about rank if the crown princess was in actual danger. Those facts in mind, Fonteroy had recruited several friends who, in addition to being even dumber than him, were known to be especially stubborn and troublesome when drunk. They were bound to keep the plan obstacle free for quite some time. Phase One being taken care of, Fonteroy moved onto Phase Two.

DG might have, under other circumstances, been less susceptible to their machinations; as it was, though, she was still rather peeved at Cain and was feeling rebellious. Besides it would be rude to refuse a drink when offered so politely. That was her excuse for the first two drinks; the next two were toasted in the name of liberty and independence.

Several drinks later all seemed to being going exactly as Lord Fonteroy planned when one of his cronies made the mistake of dissing Cain. As the young lord was so foolish as to second the opinion he drew DG's fire when she took instant umbrage and challenged him a duel. A drinking game involving quarters, whatever those were, was her weapon of choice. The farm girl had no trouble finding an appropriate substitute for the Otherside currency piece.

An hour later, rather drunk but still fairly steady, DG was continuing her staunch defence of her knight in shining armour (though she would later claim she never said any such thing), while Lord Fonteroy, trapped by the well known drunken obstinacy, was still maligning the Tin Man's character. Well, that is if you can count calling Cain 'Sir Lurkiness' as such. The princess did, thus she had moved on from quarters and had begun to work her way systematically through every drinking game she knew. A few hours after that she'd moved on to inventing them.

"Ohskay," she slurred, "whoshoeffa can' walk acrossss the rish...the rid...the pointy part of the roof hasta take a shot."

The young lords surveyed the ridgepole of the roof. It was not only narrow and part of an extremely steep roof, it also happened to be two stories up.

"I wu' do it iffa yoo 'ould make it shtop movin'," one of the cronies replied.

Another of the lords, having been sobered slightly, though not near sufficiently, by the cool night air promptly took a shot. Good stuff that. Genuine Papay spirits which DG had, earlier that night, described as some strange mix of tequila and vodka. Whatever those were, shame she hadn't thought to procure any before the party. Everyone knew you didn't drink and travel storm.

"Well?" DG interjected indignantly.

"La'ies firsht," Lord Fonteroy insisted with real, if overly drunken gallantry.

"And they shay chiffalry's dead," DG smiled in response.

"Really?" he replied, astonished, "I sho' senna card. Deepisht re...re...regrets! Yeah, those!"

Momentarily confused, DG shook it off as irrelevant. Planting her feet and posing momentarily, well as much as a swaying drunk can pose anyhow, she then spun about and strode/stumbled out onto the roof.

"_DG!"_ came a horrified bellow from below.

All heads turned toward the sound.

"Cain," DG crowed, waving her arms ecstatically in greeting.

"_Stop that!_" the Tin Man practically shrieked in response before vanishing from sight.

"Where 'e go?" she asked, puzzled.

"Shtay on targe','" one of her fellow carousers said, pulling out a quote she'd taught them earlier in the night.

"Righ'."

DG had actually managed to make it halfway across the roof before the Tin Man once more burst upon the scene.

"DG, _what are you doing?_ Get your butt back here right now!" he exclaimed.

Seeming not to hear him, DG continued on her unsteady way.

Practically dancing about in agitation the Tin Man tried again, "Come on, Princess, turn around _slowly_ and walk back this way," he pleaded.

"She can' do that," Lord Fonteroy protested, "she'll hafta take a shot." He vaguely recalled not liking this loud fellow.

If the action wouldn't have required him to look away from DG Cain would have punched him, as it was he ignored him and tried to reason with DG once more.

"Come on, Kid, you turn around and get back here right now!"

_That_ got DG's attention. "I'm not a kid!" she screamed at him. Then she tried to turn and face him.

For heart stopping moment DG tilted sideways, arms flailing, then the Tin Man was sprinting recklessly across the narrow ridgepole. Lord Fonteroy found his dislike being replaced by surprised admiration. When Cain reached DG, caught and hefted her over his shoulder, pivoting neatly if dangerously on one foot before sprinting back again, Fonteroy's admiration moved into full drunken hero worship.

"I shay, shir!" he exclaimed as the Tin Man reached level ground once more. His cronies applauded.

Cain spared them a deadly glare before shoving them mentally aside to deal with later. Putting DG down he shook her shoulders roughly and shouted, "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?"

"Winnin'," she replied, aggrieved, "now I hafta tak'a shot." She reached for the bottle a young lord helpfully held out to her.

The Tin Man's hand shot out, knocking the bottle to the ground where it shattered.

"Hey now," the lord expostulated.

"I'ma _no'_ to youn' ta drink!" DG exclaimed indignantly.

Cain regained his grip on her shoulders, eyes closed momentarily in vexation, the situation now far beyond words.

"Alright, Princess," he finally gritted out, "it's time for you to go to bed."

DG looked mutinous for a minute, then her expression brightened, "Are _you_ comin' wi' me?"

Momentarily stunned, Cain replied slowly, "Nooo."

"Allow me ta eshcort th' lady," Lord Fonteroy interjected helpfully, attempting a courtly bow. In all honestly he had forgotten the goal of his dastardly plot. Or even that he had a dastardly plot. The princess made an excellent drinking buddy.

Even in his extreme state of intoxication the young lord quailed under the fierce glare the Tin Man levelled at him.

"That won't be necessary," Cain said stiffly, "Come on, Kid, let's get you to bed."

Bristling with anger once more, DG attempted to pull herself up to full height, "_No!_" she argued, almost falling over.

"Oh for pity's sake, DG!" the Tin Man exploded, reaching the end of his patience at last. He took a swift stride forward, hefted the princess over his shoulder once more and stormed off into the palace.

"Wheeee!" she cried, anger forgotten instantly.

Sometime the next day Lord Fonteroy woke with a pounding headache and a desperate need to use the toilet. Unfortunately, he also seemed completely unable to move. Foggy thoughts pointed out that it was altogether too bright and too stuffy in here. He ought to open a window; the smell of stale booze was making him nauseous. A vague thought attempted to point out that something wasn't quite right. Then someone knocked on the glass situated an inch from his nose. Odd that.

Squinting his eyes, Fonteroy found himself meeting the angry blue eyes of the Tin Man. He found himself debating whether he disliked the fellow or admired him. His memories were somewhat confused.

Cain held the lord's eyes for a moment, pointed two fingers at his own then one back at the lord before walking off.

It was about this moment that the young lord realized that he was locked in a tin suit. Further bemused study showed that his friends were in the same situation, and had been set up in a circle facing one another. He was not entirely sure they deserved this, surely his father would protest.

His father had, in fact, protested, unfortunately he chose to do so while the Tin Man was cleaning his gun and _after_ Cain had learned the details of the elaborate plot. Though he claimed otherwise, the Tin Man's continued silence throughout the entire speech and follow up threats unnerved the older lord. Then Cain had reassembled his gun and loaded it.

Even the queen and her consort had blanched when the Tin Man looked up. For several obvious reasons he was less than amused. The court didn't know it yet but he was going to make it _very_ clear what he thought of their little games. Cain didn't care about nobility when they endangered his princess and those young idiots were staying right where they were.

The Tin Man had a very intimate knowledge of the suits. He knew that their occupants would not require food or water or even sleep; he knew that while the mind experienced every moment the body existed in a sort of semi-stasis. This was the reason he had not suffocated in nearly a decade's worth of hair growth, the bodily functions were slowed considerably. Cain figured it would take at least a week for their hangovers to pass. He'd made sure the glass windows were spotless. That was their punishment for the plot.

In punishment for the drunken carousing that almost resulted in DG falling off a roof he sent Glitch down to lecture them on the evils of drink. Reacquainted with his brain, Glitch managed quite the verbose and lengthy sermon. Given that there had been irreparable damage to his grey matter he still glitched constantly. As a result he no sooner completed his lecture than he forgot he'd given it and started all over again. He had such a loud voice, too.

Cain could give lessons in dastardly.


	2. Return of the Dastardly Plotter

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except plot and the Lords Fonteroy, though that be a dubious admission._

_Author's Note: Yes, it really is happening, the maker of dastardly plots has returned. I knew this day was coming since about five minutes after I finished 'A Dastardly Plot'. Fellow's almost as bad as Gulch for coming to life in my brain and handing out story ideas, but he shall keep it down. I command it with glariness. I wonder if he'll listen?_

_Author's Note 2: Somewhat important – I used DG in this story to address a certain pet peeve of mine in the fanfic. I want to assure everyone that I mean no offense. I do not mean to bash anyone's preferences, I am only stating mine. Firmly. Sorry, it's my sense of justice in the world._

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Lord Fonteroy was only afraid of one thing in life. This is not to say that he is a brave man, it was just that he was too stupid in general to understand that life is generally filled with consequences, some of them fatal. It was, in part, his father's fault. The elder Lord Fonteroy liked to think himself the epitome of nobility and had therefore raised his son accordingly, or rather, his various tutors, nannies and governesses had. The younger Lord Fonteroy had grown up believing that as long as you followed the tenets of nobility and the laws of social norms the world existed to grant your every whim and provide for every comfort. It was a tribute to his various caretakers that he'd made out of childhood with any morals at all and it was no wonder that his learning _anything_ required an act of the deities. Or a very pissed off Tin Man.

Wyatt Cain had been less than amused when, after hours of dealing with some of the worst drunks it'd had ever been his misfortune to meet, he discovered that Lord Fonteroy and his cronies had gotten the crown princess so drunk that she thought walking the ridgepole of a second story roof was an excellent idea for a drinking game. That she had almost fell off said roof had only exacerbated his rage. When he had discovered that the entire night had been the result of a dastardly plot to ensnare Princess DG in matrimony, and thereby acquire the future title of Consort, the Tin Man had been beyond livid. Fonteroy and his cronies had been made example of, visibly so. No one, after all, could miss the ring of tin suits in the middle of Finaqua Palace's front lawn. Then he had walked in on a meeting of the House of Lords, interrupting the Queen even, and laid down the law quite decisively regarding plots and Princess DG. Namely, there weren't to be any.

Given that Cain had been in a towering rage at the time, not to mention deadly serious considering the subject matter, the nobles had believed him implicitly. There were even unconfirmed reports that Lord Fonteroy Senior had wet himself when confronted with the Tin Man's glare. Apparently Cain had stared down all of the hundred and fifty-seven lords present in turn, even throwing a slightly more respectful glare at the Consort himself. Unsurprisingly, there had been a sudden and complete stop in all plots concerning the crown princess, and even some that didn't.

That is not to say the plotting wouldn't resume eventually. This was evidenced by Lord Fonteroy the elder's insistence that the younger lord accompany those of the royal court that were following Princess DG on her trip to oversee the reclamation of the Northern Island. Young Lord Fonteroy had been less than enthused by the idea. Not only was he less than anxious to cross the Tin Man again, but he almost threw a fit when he learned that Royal Advisor Ambrose aka Glitch aka He-Who-Repeats-Himself-Interminably was coming, too.

If being forced, through virtue of the tin suits' properties, to endured a _two week long_ hangover under sunny conditions hadn't been bad enough, having Sir Words-Without-End repeating the same lecture – quite loudly - almost the entire time (Cain had supplied the zipperhead with a cot and had meals delivered) had been agony. Not only had the sermon been long, it had been educational, and now the much abused lord had it memorized. Sometimes it got stuck in his head. If his old tutors could have just known that their former charge now actually knew the chemical structure of ethanol and the physiological reasons for its effects on the body they would have wept for joy. To add insult to injury, Fonteroy couldn't even look at alcohol anymore without feeling distinctly nauseous. It had all but killed his social life.

Clearly the Tin Man was just too uptight. It was a shame really, seeing as the man had so many admirable qualities. As Lord Fonteroy understood it – his memories were a bit vague on the matter – the Tin Man had actually gone out on the roof after the princess. Having inspected said roof while sober, the young lord had to admit the feat required a level of bravery that most the cowardly of lions would cross a pit full of lava to obtain. If only Cain would just loosen up a little...what the man needed, he decided suddenly, was to get laid.

Mentally reviewing the strange expression for a moment, Fonteroy decided it meant what he thought it did and proceeded on with further thought. As he recalled from the very many tales told of the Heroes of the Eclipse, the Tin Man had been trapped in a tin suit for some very long time. From personal experience, the young lord knew the suits were extremely cramped and rather lonely (even if you did have someone talking nonstop outside), it was no wonder the man was so angry all the time. Someone really ought to give the poor fellow an opportunity to get some stress relief.

Problem was, Lord Fonteroy thought, considering the matter further, was the Tin Man spent all his time hovering around the princess. In fact, from what little Fonteroy had ever bothered to notice, Cain hardly paid much attention to anyone else, unless deciding whether he might have to shoot them. How was the man supposed to have any fun if he wouldn't leave the princess' side?

Huh, the princess, a thought turned over lazily, the princess was a girl. In fact, if he could remember the basics of his dastardly plot correctly, it had involved getting the princess into bed. Well then, if he could contemplate bedding the princess there was no reason the Tin Man couldn't. Really it was kind of surprising he hadn't already, the girl was right there. Then again, he pursued, so were a lot of other people. In truth there was a positive plethora of people about, perhaps there merely hadn't been opportunity? Someone really ought to provide one. Hmmm.

"Really I saw it," Lord Fonteroy was telling the Tin Man and the princess a few hours later.

"Are you sure?" Cain asked sceptically. The only thing he'd trust the lordly idiot for was directions to the bar.

"Yes," Fonteroy insisted, "it was horrible, all furry and creepy with those nasty leather wings."

DG thought the whole thing sounded fishy. Not that she actually thought the young lord was plotting anything, she just thought he might have been seeing things. What, after all, could he have to gain from saying there was a mobat in the cellar? It was utterly ridiculous. On the other hand, no one actually knew what happened to the mobats after the witch's defeat. There _had_ been reports of sightings. It might be reasonable to suppose one had found its way here, given Azkadellia had once unleashed a swarm of them at her in the hall just above. They might be like the dog belonging to old John White which had been seen roaming the countryside after its master's death as if searching for its owner. Perhaps, just perhaps, if one was here it came looking for the sorceress.

"Where did you say it was again?" the Tin Man asked.

"In there," Lord Fonteroy replied, pointing into the recesses of a dark, dingy old cellar.

DG and Cain surveyed the black hole with misgivings, neither of them wanted to go inside.

"What was that?" shrieked Fonteroy, suddenly clutching the Tin Man's arm. Though he'd like to claim otherwise, the young lord wasn't acting. He'd spent so long trying to convince the two sceptics that there was a mobat in the cellar that by this time he half believed it himself. When he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye he was ready to swear it _was_ a mobat.

Cain cleared his throat pointedly and glared down at the young lord. His arm was instantly released.

"Well," said the Tin Man taking a deep breath and displaying the courage Fonteroy envied, "I guess I'd better check it out." And drawing his gun he stepped into the darkness.

DG and Fonteroy hovered anxiously by the door, waiting. It took a moment but Lord Fonteroy did eventually remember he was in the midst of a plot.

"Wha...!" DG cried in surprise when two hands suddenly sent her sprawling into the cellar. Then the door slammed and a great deal of scraping was to be heard.

Lord Fonteroy, masterful planner that he was, knew that Cain could probably get through the door. That's why he was shoving a great big oak cabinet in front of it. Sadly, for all his planning genius, Fonteroy had, as it has been said, never been one to think of consequences. He had, of course, heard all the stories of the quest for the emerald, it just never occurred to him to think through the repercussions of, say, ones having been imprisoned in a marble sarcophagus for a few hours with no hope of rescue. And since the tin suit had not bothered him, besides the prolonged hangover, he hadn't the slightest inkling of the fact that he'd just locked two extremely claustrophobic people in a small, dark room.

DG started hyperventilating almost immediately. Since she'd landed near the door of the narrow, low ceilinged room and Cain was standing right behind her frozen in surprise, there was no direction to reach in which she didn't encounter some obstacle. She was mentally taken back to a very, very scary place and was winding up for some impressive freaking out. Going crazy was to follow.

The Tin Man, on the other hand, was fairing a bit better. His tin prison had been defined by two things: it had been very constricting and had never really gotten dark – there had always been sunlight or moonlight, not to mention the video of the worst day of his life, to shed at least some light. The fact that he had some space to move and couldn't see a thing differentiated circumstances enough that he could keep his head somewhat. Just enough, in fact, to hear the sounds of DG's distress. Once he had, as far as his claustrophobia was concerned, it wouldn't have mattered if the walls were collapsing, he had more important things to worry about.

"DG, calm down, DG," he said soothingly, wrapping his arms around her, "Breathe, Kid, just breathe. Slowly now, come on, you can do it."

It took him a little while to get her breathing regular, by which point they were sitting on the floor, the Tin Man practically engulfing the princess in his embrace.

On DG's side of things, while Cain's calm tone was helping, it was his physical presence that was providing the most comfort. Her prison had been characterized by cold, unyielding marble, things Cain was anything but. In fact, DG was beginning to think she might be willing to change her opinion of small, dark enclosures.

Roughly half an hour later she was not feeling so sanguine about the matter, fortunately Glitch was in the middle of overhearing Lord Fonteroy explain his dastardly clever plan to one of his cronies. As Glitch was having one of his more glitch-filled days, his mind turned 'convinced there was a mobat in the cellar and locked them in' into 'a convicted mobat locked them in the cellar'. Glitch went into Battle Mode.

A short time later the heavy oak cabinet was reduced to so much kindling. The part of Glitch's brain that was still Ambrose and understood the cost and value of things informed Glitch that Ambrose was going to kill him as soon as he could figure out how without committing suicide. Glitch ignored himself and hastened to open the door. He was promptly trampled by Cain and DG in their haste to get the hell out of the cellar.

"Mobats, mobats!" Glitch cried in alarm, "Do I know you?" Shaking his head, he glanced over to where Cain and DG had stopped in the spacious room, gasping for breath. "Cain? DG?"

"I'm. Going. To. Kill. Him," the Tin Man ground out ominously.

"Get in line," DG gasped back.

"Oh come on!" interjected the ignorant dead man, "You were in there for over forty-five minutes, don't tell me you never got anywhere!" Lord Fonteroy surveyed their clothes in dismay. While slightly rumpled, they showed no signs of having been ripped off in a passion nor hastily re-donned. "What are you gay?!"

Cain literally growled, his face flushing red with anger. He had no idea what was going on but he was beginning to get the picture.

"If I'd have known that I would have locked you up with that one," the foolish lord continued to dig his own grave.

Glitch began making frantic negation gestures.

"I still can...hurk."

He was cut off abruptly as the Tin Man left hand closed around his throat. Whatever Cain's next plan of action was, however, it was averted when DG suddenly entered the fray.

"Cain is not gay!" she shrieked, "I won't allow it! In the name of female solidarity I am putting my foot down. You guys can have anyone else. You can have Glitch..."

The headcase started up the frantic negation gestures once more.

"...you can have Zero, you can have Tutor for all I care, but Cain is ours! And that's final!"

There was a moment of shocked silence. Cain's flush of rage had turned to one of acute embarrassment. Glitch and Ambrose were debating internally whether they'd been putting off the wrong signals. Lord Fonteroy was considering adding another person to the short list of things he was afraid off. DG was still fuming over the inferred injustice to womankind; they had to get _some_ of the good men, dammit.

Naturally it was Lord Fonteroy who broke the silence. "All that and you couldn't even..."

Cain's right fist shut him up before he could sign his own death warrant.

The young lord woke some time later with a pounding headache and a strong sense of déjà-vu. Seemed rather dark in here and was someone building something nearby? It was also kind of stuffy in...here. Oh. Crap.

"I was trying to help you!" Fonteroy bellowed, trying to be heard over the hammering.

The Tin Man paused in the act of nailing the cellar door shut. "_Don't,_" he replied, then started driving another nail into the wood.

_Well_, thought the lord, _at least there isn't..._

"Hey Cain," came the dreaded voice, "What are you doing? Hey, there's a sign! Here lies the Lord of Idiots. Do Not Open. Anyone caught trying to release the moron will be shot on sight. Perpetuators of crimes against womankind will have their brains removed and squished forthwith. Well that's not very nice. Hey Cain, what are you doing?"

From within the dark prison came a muffled scream.


	3. A Dastardly Good Deed

_Disclaimer: I do not own Tin Man but I do own Lord Fonteroy, he's growing on me so I shall claim him._

_Author's Note: Some seriousness crept into this one, it worries me._

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Once upon a time there was a good and beautiful princess. She was of the brave and generous sort, ready to risk life and limb for the greater good, strangers, and puppies. Facing adversity, the lost and amnesiac girl had overcome all obstacles to eventually save the world. In this quest she had had strong and loyal companions, ever ready to lay down their lives to protect her, and they were a real pain in the ass. Well, one of them was anyhow. At least, that's what Lord Fonteroy _thought_ Princess-call-me-DG had been trying to say. Given that she was well on her way to blind, forget-everything-the-next-day drunk and he was right behind her it is possible he may have confused a few of the finer points. Regardless, her woes were soon to be over: Lord Fonteroy had a plan.

Truly it was a plan. He'd considered a plot, but that would require a few mental twists he did not feel his inebriated mind was currently capable of. To make himself feel better he decided it was a dastardly plan. There was the small caveat in his mind that the state of intoxication was not one best suited for the making of plots or plans, dastardly or not. However, since that sounded somewhat like intelligence and he couldn't really recall ever listening to that he decided to carry on. Drunk is not a time to be trying new things.

Not that he'd intended to get drunk. In all actuality, Lord Fonteroy had been sitting in the tavern watching his friends enjoying themselves and wishing he had the stomach to join them. Sadly, his first stay in the tin suit was still having its effect. When the crown princess of the O.Z. dropped into the chair across from him and slammed a drink down in front of him he'd nearly lost his dinner for more than one reason.

If Lord Fonteroy's first experience had given the young noble a healthy fear of the Tin Man his second encounter had cemented it in place. The only mildly merciful occurrence in the whole thing was when one of the kitchen staff got tired of The Great Verbosity's billionth rendition of the door sign and switched him to a new channel. The young lord knew all about phobias now. He quite understood why Cain and DG had been so furious with him for locking them in the cellar, but, really, how was a fellow supposed to know? If he didn't know that phobias entailed an unreasonable fear of the object in question he would have sworn he'd developed a whole new one: Cainophobia. His fear was perfectly justified, however, and therefore not a psychological condition.

This all being so, he was less than eager to be the princess' drinking buddy. Not to mention it had been terribly rude of them to forget all about him when they left the Northern Palace. The silence had been nice, but still. It had taken over a month for someone to come back for him and since when the Tin Man closes a door he nails it shut it had taken hours to free the captive. Not to mention everyone had been worried about the sign.

It was not terribly surprising, therefore, that the young lord replied to the princess' request with a semi-firm no. He'd really meant it, too, but then she'd gone and done this wide blue eyed thing. Lord Fonteroy might have astonished his father by putting his foot down regarding his disinclination to court, woo, or even be near the crown princess but something about that look weakened him. A nebulous thought informed him that it was not good to let people drink alone. Also, his father had stressed that even nobility had to follow the dictates of royalty (that would be why he'd been ordered to court the princess in the first place). Overcoming his nausea, Lord Fonteroy had reached for the drink.

Neither was entirely sure when or how they'd ended up talking about DG's – maybe – love life. Fonteroy thought it was sometime after he'd admitted that his full name was Bartholomew Fortius Fonteroy. The princess had been unreasonably gleeful at this announcement and promptly began referring to him as her BFF. Personally, the young lord thought it to be an atrocious expression, but as she later admitted his father had been extremely cruel in the naming of his son the young man was mollified. She even promised not to mention it to anyone.

Some hours later, having been happily reunited with his beloved alcohol and reassured as to his conviction that the crown princess made a good drinking buddy, Lord BFF came upon the workings of his plan. Really, it seemed too bad that a girl couldn't save the world and get her fellow, too. He did wonder, seeing as she was royalty, why she didn't simply command the Tin Man to marry her. Must be a female thing. That was alright, though, she had the dastardly plotter-planner to make things right, all he needed was to find the man.

Cain, it was duly noted, seemed to be in less than the friendliest of moods when the young lord pounded on his door some time later. It was apparent from the Tin Man's state of dress that he had just returned from some patrol or other. The last thing he wanted was to have the drunken Lord Foolhardy on his doorstep.

"Yoooou are an asho'," Lord Fonteroy stated firmly.

The Tin Man blinked. So did the young lord, he was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to be the opening line. Oh well, it would do.

"You fink u'r soooo great," Fonteroy slurred emphatically, "Biiiiiig gun, scarewe wookin' facesh. Yooo shave pwinsesh, good, shave kingdome, ev'n betta, bu' then wha? You do not'ing. Fink it make a gurl happy you always 'round wit the protectin' but not doin' anyfing? Left hangin' she is. No' ta menshion is hard on a fella, awways gettin' thumped for tryin' ta get near 'er."

Cain watched with trepidation as the young lord paused to martial his thoughts. The Tin Man was feeling confused, astonished, and more than a little nervous regarding the noble's mental state.

"Is that all?" he asked warily.

"I dareshay it's not!" Lord Fonteroy retorted, firing up, "there sho mush more. Shomegfing about too mush honour, overshtuff'd shense of nobiddity...alsho not too old. Not shure I 'gree wiff dat, whateffa. Oh, an' someting 'bout butt. Not really understan'ing dat. I'ma breast man meeself. Not dat you haf breasts. Whish is good 'cause dat be kinda freakish no' to menshion dishtactin' an' I'ma tryin' ta haf a sherious convershasion 'ere."

It was obvious from his expression that the Tin Man really had no idea how to respond to this. "Look Fonteroy," he began gently.

"No you look Shir Lurksalot," the lord interrupted, "yooo ca' stand 'round bein' all noble but is no' fair ta th' gurl. She dun care. Wan's oo she wan's an'a you weave 'er hangin'. 'eart all confused or someting like dat. Gurl shays lots."

"_Who?!_" Cain demanded with sudden foreboding.

"DG, off course," Fonteroy replied, "wha' 'ou fink I drink wif Ashadeeya? Too scawee, no' 'app'nin'."

"Where is she?" the Tin Man cut in.

"Ashadeeya? No ideel, try an' avoid 'er."

"Not Azkadellia, DG..." Cain attempted to clarify.

"Oh DG," Fonteroy interrupted, "gurl's a mesh she is. Shobbing o'er da ale when she's no' danshing on da table. Shpilled da whishkey she did. 'ave yoo effa had Uddershide whishkey? Li' notting you effa..."

"Never mind the bloody whiskey," the Tin Man growled, "_where is DG?_"

"No need ta shout. She's at De Milo'sh new place, yoo kno', in Shin Shquare?"

"_You left her there alone?!!_" Cain bellowed.

"Well yesh," Lord Fonteroy explained, "She dinna wanna leaf."

But the Tin Man was already gone, moving so fast he almost forgot his hat.

When De Milo saw Wyatt Freaking Cain coming he tried desperately to hide. Since that didn't work he attempted to plead ignorance and that he was just about to call the Tin Man. He was unconscious before he finished his second sentence.

DG, Cain discovered upon entering the main room, was introducing the O.Z. to the concept of pole dancing. The uprights had been intended as mere structural support but would doubtless be re-tasked in the future. Fortunately for all present, the princess had opted to retain her clothes, that or she couldn't figure out how to get them off, either was possible. One man was foolish enough to endeavour to put a hand on the drunken girl; a bullet through the offending limb educated him as to the error of his ways.

"Cain!" DG called. Then, to his absolute horror, she burst into tears.

Striding swiftly forward, the Tin Man scooped her up in his arms and, casting a quelling glare around the room, carried her back out into the night. Half an hour later he'd hauled her back to the palace, dunked her head under the tap a few times and tucked her into bed. Eyeing her contemplatively, he sat down in a nearby chair to await the morning.

DG was not the happiest person in the O.Z. when the suns rose early the next day. It seemed as if every hangover she'd never experienced had decided to visit her all at once. Her head hurt, her body ached, her stomach was training to climb Mt. Everest...and there was a very grim looking Tin Man sitting beside her bed.

"You do realize," Cain said the moment her eyes met his, "that that was an extremely stupid, irresponsible and _dangerous_ thing you did last night."

The princess blinked.

"I do not know how you got out," he continued, heads rolling in his tone, "but you might have thought to consider what you put me through given the recent assassination attempt on the royal family. You should remember it, Princess, you were there."

DG winced.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" the Tin Man asked his voice unforgiving.

Explanations did not come easily to the crown princess. It was rare for her to indulge in self-centered, selfish behaviour, but last night it had all seemed too much, she'd needed to escape. This morning she felt awful for more reasons than the physical, she could only imagine how Cain had felt when he found out she was not in the Palace.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "It's just...I just...I couldn't...You got shot _three times_ Cain. Three times, bang, bang, bang, right in front of me, while guarding me, and what did that change? Nothing. You fight off anyone who would think to hurt me, you chase off every man that tries to get close, and you damn near kill yourself protecting me but that's all. At this rate I'll be lucky to get a death bed confession and what good would that do me? Last night I just...I just...I just couldn't take it anymore. Yeah, it was stupid, selfish, irresponsible, immature, and so on and so forth, but guess what, people in love get stupid. Especially when it's unrequited or the object of their affection thinks they know best and for some reason best is doing nothing. Either you love me and tell me or you don't and you let me go, pick one."

"Enough," the Tin Man commanded staring down at the hand that once wore a wedding ring. "I'm an old man, Princess; I spent too many damn years in a tin suit watching my life fall apart. I've been broken, remade, reshaped, and scarred so much I'm not even sure I'm whole anymore. You, on the other hand, are so young with so much of your life ahead of you. You're a whole person, Princess, and so high above me."

DG, furious now, attempted to protest.

"I said enough," Cain cut her off without a word, "I have been trying to keep you safe, kid, from everything, including me, and I will not have a repeat of last night. If you will not behave yourself I guess changes will just have to be made, starting with me and my place here."

Worried now, DG had to swallow the lump in her throat.

"If you are going to insist on these romps of yours unless something changes," he continued, "then I guess I'm going to have to inform my 'overstuffed sense of nobility' that the only way to keep you safe is to have you marry a broken old Tin Man. Doesn't bother me as much as it should," Cain smiled slightly, "it was damnably in the way anyhow."

"Huh?" DG was not prepared for this sudden turnabout, and given her current condition she was having trouble deciphering his meaning. She was pretty sure it was important, though.

"A drunken little birdy informed me last night that I wasn't being fair to you DG," he explained, "I've been thinking about it ever since. All this obsessing over age and social status when I know damn well it means nothing to you is so...pointless. I love you, DG. I have ever since I met you, I just...just..."

He got no further. DG didn't care how badly she ached or how much the room spun she was off the bed and tackling her Tin Man the second she realized he'd finally decided to let her know how he truly felt. Her body would eventually remind her how miserably it hurt but for now she was intent on kissing him senseless and making sure honour and nobility never had the chance to change his mind.

"So," murmured Cain during one of their oxygen breaks, "do I get to know what it is about my butt or the breasts I do not have, or do I not want to know?"

Chuckling merrily, DG wished she could have witnessed the dastardly good deed her BFF had performed.

Lord Fonteroy's morning, meanwhile, was not so friendly. It made him think of that saying of his tutor's: no good deed something something. Still, he considered philosophically, it could have been worse. He'd been halfway through his hangover before the Tin Man had thought to bother punishing the lord for leaving DG drunk and alone in the seedier part of town. Also, the Wordy Wonder was noticeably absent. Heck, they were even so kind as to let him out for the wedding. Not at all bad if he did say so himself.


End file.
